


REVERENCE //Oneshot

by Wabbajackle



Series: Bendiduous the Demon [3]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine, Bendy and the dark revival
Genre: Dirty Thoughts, Drinking, Everyone else having the wrong idea, Fluff, Fourth of July, Good Guy Joey Drew, Good Intentions, Holidays, Introspection, Introversion, Joey is almost fatherly, Literal Sleeping Together, Multi, New York City, Obsessive Behavior, Philosophy, Religion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romance, Sammy Lawrence being a Jerk, Sammy Lawrence being sweet, Self-Reflection, Somewhat creepy at points, Surprises, Sweet, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:35:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25060090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wabbajackle/pseuds/Wabbajackle
Summary: //Independence Day and Fourth of July special//Sammy Lawrence reflects on freedom and his relationship to it, as well as god. However, it's sort of hard to think whilst being interrupted by both fireworks and the feelings he'd been trying so hard to ignore.
Relationships: Sammy Lawrence/Reader
Series: Bendiduous the Demon [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798642
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	REVERENCE //Oneshot

Sammy never really bothered with the social gatherings. Unless Joey was forcing him to go, he rarely went on his own. But you, for some reason, didn’t ever have to go to any of them. He could never understand why Joey never did anything to force you, as if he maybe cared about you. There’d been a lot of evidence to suggest so, and that idea only sought to further itself with each passing day. 

So it was a small surprise when his third violinist came up to you and asked if you were going to the bar with everyone else-- the man friendly, and clueless of who you were, Sammy thought-- and you dared to smile, to pretend as if the statement wasn’t intended for Mr. Lawrence alone. 

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

He stumbled back into the piano, tripping on the stool and hitting a few sour keys. The violinist spun around to see what had happened, but Sammy made it look like an unrelated accident by flinching his foot and grumbling about someone leaving the stool out. 

Though as he stared down at those piano keys, his acting hopefully passable for truth, an idea went through his head, one that was so invasive he couldn’t relax even in the thought of it. 

You must’ve liked him if you agreed to something you virtually avoided at all costs for years.

Sammy shook his head, wanting to hover, to find an excuse so he could listen more. You’d been around for a long time- everyone else, they were mostly newer in comparison. There was some mystery to the story, like how you came to work with Joey and how long you had been, but whenever someone had a question about you out of curiosity, Joey deflected and changed the topic. 

In all of his time working here, he’d never once seen you agree to a drink. 

\----

You weren’t the only one with some strange intuition, that made itself apparent in a knock on his door, disrupting his work and making him look up from the stave still in the progress of being filled.

“My apologies for interrupting a man at work, but Sammyboy! I need you to do something for me.” Joey really must’ve had eyes everywhere, that, or you told him. But in the end, he found out as one did, and Sammy ended up babysitter. 

Joey needed a respectable, responsible adult, one that realistically, wouldn’t prey on or neglect his sweet, fragile little butter lamb. -- At this point, the dynamic expressed itself as near-to fatherly in levels of concern and adoration, given the common agreement that Joey was both an “agreeable” man and one hard to say no to. Sammy? He didn’t like the social gatherings, but this would be another one of those rare occasions that Joey asked him to attend, and as aforementioned, he would not deny the big man, a loyal shepherd dog for command of the keeper. 

Sammy however had been so busy, so removed from the outside world, that he never even realized the approach of July. He’d not gone out into the harsher weather to melt his shoes off for anything more than to carry in a few cases of ink-- since Wally Franks usually did the job and all work related to it.

Speaking of Mr. Franks. He, at a glance, was an insufferable man-- dimwitted, too socially inclined for Sammy’s tastes-- but again, onto matters at hand more so important than a grunt worker, not having realized the approach of July, he’d not bothered to remember Independence Day, nor the fourth.. If there was anything he hated with a passion, it would definitely be massive froths of reddened drunks and the cheery. 

He hated them more so when he was personally associated with them. 

The fourth of July came chock-full of obnoxious disordinance to add to the incompetence of his coworkers who often fit both earlier touched upon criteria, not to mention the offending sulfur smell that lingered on their unwashed jackets from unpinned lapels and from a week of insufferable neighbors who popped off noisy fireworks until the early hours of the waking blue collar, thank god he didn’t live in the city anymore. All done in the name of pride and servitude, really an excuse to abandon common courtesy. 

Sammy, he cared more about a reserved faith in god than an inconveniently outspoken declaration of love to one’s country. Nationalism had been more of a bother than profit, incentive for wars and drafts, both of which he most gratefully had avoided in his young age. He may not have seemed like it, but he could back that claim without much effort, having enough of an aptitude to history and calculative interests, such as utilized within music theory. --The latter, of course, being humbly his greater employed inclination. 

So, in sparsity, he made quips in reference to that such education of his, one not often brought up. It took speaking with him to know of his proper qualifications, and speech was somewhat of a rarity for him when he’d rather be directing and composing. 

He kept it no secret that he saw his time as spent well in seclusion, with little to no interaction outside of formalities. 

In that Joey was right. Sammy quintessentially represented the man of good faith, who did not often play risk in addiction or action as many men of the country had. He did not smoke, he hardly went near alcohol, and to the outsider, seemed like the no sex before marriage type-- not that he wasn’t, they were also right in their assumptions. His track record kept intact while squeaky clean, so what god had given him to show for it was, again, the title of babysitter.

\----

So then time it was that he’d come to follow the small group out the door, as per Joey’s blatant request. Light had already begun to yellow in the peak of late evening, and meekly did you enter your car, joining the rest in a beeline off to the nearest bar, just a bit closer to the city, on the inner part of the outskirts, a neighborhood semi-close to the studio itself. 

It seemed a quaint little place, with little to no outside charm. Surely meant for those of.. Lower wages. Still, even in his abhorrence of ‘homely’, tight knit services and crowded small buildings, the mandate in itself was enough for Sammy to get over his.. higher standards. 

He waited for the group of you to enter first, yet it was hard to say with how little effort anyone made in acknowledging you if he should consider you part of that group. They were just his crew and a few animators, unimportant fodder, and yet as he watched from afar, he felt more and more so something off about the way they had left you by yourself, though you smiled ignorantly, happy for whatever imagined reason you could have come up with to be. 

He had enough when he saw a particular woman approach you, you who had been so excluded from the group aside from the occasional glance and nicety. You obviously didn’t come enough or have enough connections to be paid attention to.

Worst of all, it had been his clarinet player, a particularly peppy and attention oriented woman who liked to have her hair done in a bob of loose curls. Her especially stubby nose and overemphasized thin drawn on eyebrows made for an attempt at flirtation which did not quite go right, and something in him hated her with all of his direct passion within that moment. 

He didn’t know exactly what he was doing, until he’d already pushed off the booth and wove his way through the standing patrons. She’d been laughing behind the back of her palm, showing off the thick ring which plated her finger. He wondered if you were just hiding your discomfort, putting up a face in their cruel treatment toward you-- Still, he would not tolerate the stupidity of the flock. He’d heard it even from where he was, the condescending question that had come from her angrily rouge lips-- as if she hadn’t even cared that you entered right behind her. 

“I’m sorry dear, who are you waiting for?” 

Her double-edged sweetness did not sit well with him and he reveled in the way her gaze changed from confident to terrified in a mere flick of her gaze. You jumped as his hands cupped around your shoulders, and it took a few moments to realize who it was by his voice, with the addition of feigned surprise. He didn’t know what you were up to, but as you did, you seemed to be playfully scheming a plan he couldn’t quite understand. 

“I see you’re well acquainted with my musical ensemble, lamb.” He towered over you, a clear threat from superior to underling. “How rude of me to keep you waiting.” He knew well enough your ability to act, and yet your next reactions were seemingly genuine. You had not expected him to do more than graze your shoulder, but he too, was great at acting. 

“Mr. Lawrence.” You stuttered out, stiff under his hands. The buckle of his suspender dug into the small of your back, leaving little distance between him and yourself. His thumb ran just over the bone beneath it, prompting you to physically shudder. You could not see his face, but your own was caught staring in the headlights.

He was being cocky, gloating to the woman that she had been wrong to mess with you, especially regarding her status as a young employee facing two of the most committed, he himself having plenty of years clocked in though still even less-so than you. She’d not even been important enough for him to remember her name, which he once again conveniently forgot in the wake of her attempt to jab at you. 

You had a legacy, the power to determine anyone’s fate, and yet you were too impishly shy and kind to actually properly exercise that ability. This woman was new, she hadn’t understood that. But Sammy had a reputation for harshness, one that nearly rivaled Joey’s. It made sense that they were close on a little more than business terms, and that he had a great respect for Drew if not his ethical imperfections. 

Unlike you, he might easily go about gaining clearance to dismiss her if dear old overprotective father had found out what she’d said to his precious child in the bindings of god since not blood. 

“Mr. Lawrence.” You squirmed, subject to his ever--tightening grasp. “A little too tight.”

His hands flew away, not trying to hurt in any form. In fact, if he had any half-thought intention at all, it could be described as snarl at the proverbial coyote trying to bite the leg of his lamb. His lamb. Sammy Lawrence, a highly religious and well performing academic, had not been so accepted by his more lawless, guideless heathens he had once called peers-- so he had another known inclination, to be unforgiving of those who thought they had power over others. 

That coyote had long since tucked its tail, but had not yet run off. Perhaps his intimidation had been too potent and turned her fishnet covered calves into jello. He had not much like a flirty woman who had been promised, nor an indecency to prey on the weak. How unattractive of a woman. 

He may not have seemed the kind to care, because he wasn’t, but there were certain orders and certain duties which could bring forth all sorts of unusual aspects from him, should they be needed. 

“Mr. Lawrence,” Had been said a third time, at this point edging a certain thankfulness for your intended respect but dissatisfaction in it’s impersonality. He had not minded though, the experimental finger on one suspender, pulling it just off his skin. 

You had been drinking, that he knew. But he hadn’t thought nearly enough to impair your senses, and yet he could too be proven wrong-- you didn’t seem like the kind to often drink either, so he supposed you werent. 

“Sammy,” You punctuated, at this point surprising him enough to small flattery. 

He had cared not who had now turned to watch, not his band nor random passerby, this was a monumental occurrence. Finally the day you could look past formality, as if he weren’t acquainted with you for over five years at least, as if each day was the first, shy, pleasant, truly agreeable, and not in his way. He had not disliked you from first impression, and that was by large an impressive statement from a man jaded against most other human beings. 

All it took were some less than pure influences, coming from a good place. Your prohibition in past years had become apparent in your state as of current, now that no more than a glass and a half had gone and clocked in your filter of speech. A slack on propriety, if you will. Still, you retained the more fine functions, and articulated without slur, though he had a feeling it might be possible the effects could still progress in their afflictions onto you. 

“Is Joey paying you for this?” You leaned forward, eyes lidded and tired. Already had the evening worn you down, no doubt past your bedtime had you sacrificed your wellbeing for some get-together, and for unclear reasons. Of course he wasn’t, this was one of Joey’s more pleasurable tasks. 

“No.”

You slipped a hand through a pocket, and pulled a wad of folded cash out, waving it at him. He tried to refuse, but artfully you stuffed it against his shirt, letting his suspender slap against his skin to pin it in place. If not accidentally a bit suggestive, it set him straight for denying an order. He licked his lips with a grin, knowing he could easily use the money on you instead- if he actually felt like going outside at some point. It was fine, he didn’t mind serving submissive in this newfound initiative of yours. He’d say you could use more of it, especially on him-- though again, he’d deny himself for a thought like that. It strayed from his own propriety even without an outside influence, and god would need to forgive him for his emotional inclinations. 

“ I had a feeling you’d come.” You hummed delightedly, offering food and a drink in the small time that you both lingered, though he only took sips as a courtesy. What he found more enjoyable had been without question the platter split between the two of you, barstools scooted a bit closer together, just slightly. The music on the radio had suddenly been very tasteful, and he found a finger actually tapping, to the surprise of himself, even. 

The few of them whispered of your interactions, and how they’d always suspected something there. Mr. Franks seconded that sentiment during his day shift, having retracted his assumption that perhaps Miss Pendle had caught Lawrence’s attention, when he noted the body posture he assumed the moment you walked in the room. 

Even if he did his best to not face you, he always had one foot turned in your direction, and Mr. Franks dare did say that the man tried to sound even more sultry in his solo performances- while waiting the same time each day for your visit. You too had been guilty of specific behaviors, lingering the longest in the music department, more so than anywhere else. 

It seemed like almost everyone but the two of you had taken note of it, likely because you’d been doing it back and forth for years, it only gradually worsening. 

You spent a fair amount of time in the bar, comfortably in a place that you’d both normally be very out of place. You drank more and laughed more often, all the while Sammy also progressively loosened up, his arm ending up unworriedly lax against your own.

While the two of you had left together, it only brought about more questions than it did answers. But that third violinist, he had a feeling he’d accidentally moved things along by asking you to come, knowing his boss had overheard and reacted sensitively enough to the point that his usual poise had crumpled. 

\-----

Sammy had come to a small crossroad in choosing who’s car to take, not wanting to leave yours in the lot of a pub alone, subject to possible thieves. So he asked that you hand over your keys, and allow him to drive. You were hardly in a position to refuse, so as expected, you complied. 

Window open, your arm rested on the door, your head leaning forward to feel the passing air as your car lightly bounced around on the brick road. He thought for a moment, perhaps not wanting the night to end so abruptly, and made a turn.

Amused in his sudden veer, you trusted that wherever he’d intended to bring you would be pleasant, for Sammy was not a man who liked places of gathering. You’d probably be looking forward to a park or a field, and by guess, knowing what you had about him, it seemed you were right. 

He parked not far off, on the side of some back road. The location was practically the middle of nowhere, unsettled by even a shanty and far away from the city itself-- yet still, in it’s elevation, the skyline, the many rows of windows on distant skyscrapers could still be seen reflecting the blaring orange of the setting sun. 

Having such a view meant watching a bunch of fireworks go off in different blooms from all different sides of the city. The water had partly also been in view, and you could only imagine the party scene alone part of the pier. The smog from factories somewhat lessened the grandeur, but listening to the echoing pops that had trailed somehow from the filthy, polluted city to the thinner, cleaner air outside of it, and feeling the prickling hint of a chill, you felt at ease. 

His satisfaction in choosing to come here overrode his dislike for the explosions. He admittedly still flinched, while you had found more fascination in their suddenness. Sitting there on the grassy hill, your side on his, it had been perhaps the most pleasant holiday he’d had in a while. 

“Sammy.” Came your hold onto his arm, wanting him to come closer. “Thank you.” As he looked over, his sleeve flapping in the wind and his hair doing the same, he saw himself in your eyes, their clarity something he’d not been used to. He suddenly felt a little self conscious, unable to look away regardless the discomfort his own reflection brought. 

He tried to redirect, and instead wondered more on what you were thinking and feeling in the moment. 

He could only imagine the world through your eyes, blurry, full of bold streaks of color in the fading night sky, next to him, whatever you thought of him, warmed by the body you’d been vying to swallow with your own. Your mind had probably been loose and free, your thoughts allowed to artistically explode into wild plumes of flowers just as the fireworks in the distance had. You were free now, in this moment, unrestricted by ration or anxious irrationality. 

For some reason, he didn’t mind. It wasn’t a question of sensitivity, his own sensitivity, your touch did not hurt, he felt no urge to reel away. Though leaning much of your weight on him, you were gentle with him, enough that your presence was solid and not uncomfortable to the finer hairs on his arm or bothering the skin rubbed by the fabric of his clothes. 

And still, you’d say things, unbelievably kind and warm things, that confused his more rational brain who knew trust not as commonplace. Perhaps you had too wanted something from him, but that want was not so nefarious that it constantly sent him questioning, searching for calculated lithe in what he could only describe as pure expressions, and full trust. 

You just seemed happy with him, as if that were the most normal thing in the world. But to him who’d been disliked by nearly everyone that had the confidence or idiocy to relay their true thoughts and feelings, he didn’t understand how he was supposed to receive such a concept. 

Your next words were again a sample of that affinity he’d not understood. It was cryptic, and made him seem important somehow, much more important than he really was. It also made little sense, but he would not ask sense from someone impaired. 

“I regretted not spending more time with you.” 

You were probably babbling, seeing as you’d made quite an effort to at least see him once a day, ask him how his own was going, and bring him a cup of coffee, and yet what you said intrigued him. “You wouldn’t believe what a nightmare I’ve been through.” You reached out and grabbed his hand suddenly, tracing the outline of his knuckles down with your fingertips fanned over the back of his own. 

You tapped his ring finger, not caring it was the wrong hand. “..And yet I disappear, every time, and I don’t know where I go. Is it the clouds? Is it the top of a skyscraper? A blank room? Nothing? I never remember that part.” He figured then, that perhaps your influenced, unrestricted mind had wandered to dreams. 

“I just remember waking. I just remember that you’re the first person I see.” How-- interesting a statement. In your stupor, you’d managed to show a side of yourself that he’d not commonly seen. He’d at least been familiar with your artistic visions to some extent, but had not known what a romantic orator you’d made. He might just ask to replace Fain if you produced lyrics so effortlessly as you spoke them. To that, he chucked to himself. 

“It’s odd you say that.” He mused, wiggling his hand free from your ticklish smoothing. “--because I believe I might just understand.” He tilted his head, crooking it to look at you with a small bemused smile. 

\-----

The drive was comfortable, he at least felt at ease with you sitting up instead of laying down. The last thing he wanted was any sort of horrible occurrence, as made apparent today was the care he denied himself of ever having, yet had shown anyways. All done in front of your coworkers, no less. He hadn’t known exactly what to think of that. 

The walk back into the studio was easy, considering you were just lucid enough to match his slightly tired steps with your own. You decided you didn’t feel safe sleeping along in your office, and for the sake of watching over you, he shared that sentiment, allowing you to follow him into his own private little sanctuary. 

Realistically, a lot of things could be done within that wouldn’t leave so much as a scrap of evidence later, but the eyes of god were still upon him and he had not yet forgotten his willful resistance in the name of his own honestly in his faith for god. 

The cot was predominantly tailored to one person-- himself, so he had to improvise when it came to accommodating you. It was spacious, but it only had been fit to sleep one person. He’d offered his hammock, but you shot him down, refusing to take away his comfort for the night. He tried to argue that it was no issue, but enough bickering later and you made him run down to your office and get the blankets that you’d kept in there, so that you could put together something makeshift to sleep on. 

You’d also convinced him somehow to slip underneath the covers with you, his suspenders unclasped and his shirt untucked. He felt indecent, and yet your own clothes had been adjusted without insecurity, perhaps even cheekiness underneath his watchful stare. The floor had even somehow become bearable beside you, and that he wondered more about. 

He felt like a small boy having his first sleepover, but he also felt a little something more. It was uncomfortable, internally, but that wasn’t your fault nor did he dislike it. 

It wasn’t a terrible night of sleep, getting over his own internalized reluctance to share a ‘bed’ with you. Once he had, he’d actually found it to be perhaps one of the most wonderful he’d had as of yet, even though the floor somewhat ached on his shoulders in the morning. 

The night still went without so much as a hand in the wrong place. It was another story however when both he and you emerged from the back late, groggy, and just as ruffled. By the looks you both received and the sudden cheer from Mr. Franks, he had a feeling he knew what they were assuming.

You both had to go retrieve his car, since it had been left in the lot overnight. He wouldn’t have let you drive in the state you were in-- and on his way out, he gave them some sheet music for warm-ups.

They were free to assume whatever they had wished, but his relationship with you, it was a little more complicated than that. He didn’t quite know what it was himself. 

\-----

Freedom. Oh the squabbling of men over freedom, to those who drank to it, who poorly decided to infringe on others in lieu of it.

Sammy Lawrence had not much in common with most men, but he had in life disregarded one thing. Reverence. Reverence for the body and the thick of the years that had cyclically came and gone for many great and powerful men. He had neglected felicity in the name of freedom, and it took cruel imprisonment and forsaking from god for him to realize the angels of his gait, his success, his go at life along the parkside stroll of God’s intended garden. He had now been not Adam, but Lillith, led astray by no apple starving missus, but the woman slashed from nearly all holy texts in her forsaking of god and the light. 

He had intermingled with a dark lord, and in his efforts produced a race of abominations dripping ink. Yet here, seeing her beloved as a now forsaken creature, this incarnate of Lillith cast in an ugly stain of a body, he prayed to god once again.

He wished with all of himself for freedom from his inky curse, so that he could once again dare dream of that feeling, the love in those unaged hands blessed by cherubs and fortified in the fires of Saint Michael’s good faith. 

You had not changed, you were the same, right down to the molecule.. And you were back, as if no time had passed, as if he weren’t trapped in the studio at all. As if it had all been some sort of sick nightmare. 

Sammy Lawrence had become a monster, now bastardized in the light of the true holy one, perhaps his savior, the second coming, and divinity in that form he was too blind to see before. For who was Lucifer-- Mr. Joey Drew-- to not wholly love his child, the mortal incarnation of god. Mr. Drew had spun a web of deceit, even stringing him along, and you had been too bright and too hot for the ensnarement of his gossamer web. Joey had a lot of love for god, it was the only thing Sammy knew for certain about him. He had a lot of love for you.

..and you, you who had seen, who had known all before it was to happen, who had jurisdiction over the entirety of the world, you had manifested as god even if not the image his previous faith had imagined. He hadn’t understood until his falling and the betrayal of his false lord, the things you’d said when vulnerable, things he was likely never supposed to hear. 

This land, those fools, they could celebrate their freedom, but there was one thing they were blind to. They should have worshiped the very ground you walked on. 

He was now partially opened to the truth. He knew who he now must worship, in supple body, in starving love, in begging forgiveness. 

You who had masqueraded as a lamb in a flock of sheep had actually been the sun and the stars all hiding in mortal incarnate. Those stars too had been drawn alongside stripes on a banner that he had not cared to respect. 

And yet he knew now. He must appease his god through sacrifice. 

HE WOULD SACRIFICE ANYTHING FOR YOU.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! I didn't edit, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know! 
> 
> Happy Independence Day and Fourth of July! (2020 has been something, hasn't it? Be sure to wish for something nice!)


End file.
